Heavy's Sandvich Academy
by NaruYasha352
Summary: Heavy teaches the team how to make proper sandviches.
1. Entire Team Is Idiots

**Disclaimer - **I do not own TF2 or its characters. I'm just making them do amusing things for a while.

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**Chapter 1 -Entire Team Is Idiots**

Heavy had seen many a terrible thing during his thirty-eight and a half years on earth, but nothing had prepared him for the scene he stumbled upon when he threw open the door to the mess hall kitchen. His mouth fell open in pure, unrelenting horror.

A flipped table, slices of white bread coated in traces of mayonnaise stuck to random walls, the remnants of exploded tomatoes here and there, a broken mustard jar next to Demoman's boot, a shredded head of lettuce clutched in Soldier's hands, various unidentifiable luncheon meats coating Scout's face as he lay unconscious (or semi-unconscious, he was groaning softly) against the cabinet doors, mashed cheese slices littering the floor with shoe prints in them.

A travesty.

The only thing that had survived the team's lunch effort was the jar of green olives that Sniper had rescued from the table before it fell. The Aussie had the jar clutched tenderly in both hands, the hands raised high above his head.

"Idiots! Idiots! Can't you do anyzing right, or wizout erupting into a childish brawl!" Spy bawled, dabbing at the mustard streaks on his suit with a handkerchief. "Now look at my suit! Zhis will never come out!"

"Your zuit? Look at mein glasses!" Medic grunted, wiping away at his gloppy spectacles. They had been coated in a mixture of mayonnaise and horseradish. The rest of the condiment mixture had been splattered across his face, leaving only where he had removed the glasses the clean part of his skin.

"Hmmph fffmph!" Pyro cried, cowering behind a food stained serving tray.

"It's as much yer fault as it is ours, ye little fire maniac!" Demoman rubbed his aching head and picked himself up from the floor shakily, swatting off lettuce leaves and stray crumbs. "You were th' one who tried te toast bread with an open flame 'stead th' bloodeh toaster!"

"FFfph!" Pyro raised his shield up just as Demoman threw a squished tomato in retaliation.

"And thot's fer sayin' ah dunno how te make a sandwich!"

"Hhrph drrrrfff!" Pyro balled a glove and shook it in his attackers direction.

"Ah do too!" Another tomato flew across the room and splattered against Pyro's tray.

"The arsonist is right! No you don't!" Soldier hurled the lettuce head right at Demo's own. It bounced off with a 'whop' and caused Demoman to do a dizzy spin toward the cabinet, where he tripped over Scout's gangly form and fell.

"C'mon, Solly, Demo, there's no need for this in-fightin'! Now ya'll better quit it b'fore I whoop ya both!" Engineer said, threatening to hog-tie Soldier with his length of extension cord.

Scout recovered and began throwing meat slices off his face. "You were the one who couldn't even put together a friggin' sandwich properly, Engie! So these meatheads had ta go an' try, and they failed completely too, I might emphasize!"

"What?!" Engineer fumed.

"Hey!" both Demoman and Soldier yelled.

"I put together a damn good sandwich, these two dummies just don't have any notion of what good taste is!" said Engineer.

"Hey!" both Demoman and Soldier yelled again, turning their heads toward Engineer.

"You're all a buncha dopes, fellas, just admit it," Scout said snidely. "I make the best sandwiches 'round here, but does anybody ever let me prove it? Nope. They're too busy yellin' at me, like a buncha dopes who dunno how ta do anything right!"

The trio turned their anger toward Scout, who got to his feet and prepared to defend himself with a bottle of ketchup.

"You're one ta talk, ye don't even know how te _eat _a sandwich properly!" Demo shouted, pointing at the Scout's weapon of choice. "Ketchup doesn't go on a bloodeh sandwich!"

"Ketchup goes on everything!" Scout yelled back.

"No it doesn't!" the trio coming after him yelled.

"Mates, mates!" Sniper pleaded, still holding the olive jar protectively. "It's just sandwiches. We don't need to start a friendly-fire incident over this."

"Oh shut up, Sniper!" everyone else yelled.

"Ve've had kvite enough backseat sandvitch making from you today! It's not like you did any better zhan us," Medic accused.

In his frustration, he tossed a mayo covered knife towards what he had expected to be the sink. Instead, it sailed through the air, bouncing off Soldier's helmet as he rose up unexpectedly. It flew up and knocked the jar from Sniper's hands.

"Gaw!" Sniper and the rest of the group watched the jar come to a magnificent (and tragic) crash landing on the floor below, splattering Sniper's shoes and pant legs with olive juice. Numerous rolling olives spread across the floor, reaching far enough to come to rest at the tips of Heavy's large boots.

Medic's hands went to his mouth, partially covering it. "Oops!"

That was the last straw. Heavy had had more than enough of this madness.

"EVERYONE, OUT OF KITCHEN!" he bellowed, startling the group who hadn't even been aware of his looming presence.

"Oh, Heavy, hey. We were just tryin' ta make lun-" Scout began.

"_NOOOOOW!_"

Heavy's face went a reddish purple, veins sticking out of his neck and forehead. He pointed toward the exit, hoping his team would get the picture before he had to grab them and toss them out one by one. A task which he would guarantee none of them enjoyed.

Knowing Heavy's temper (and ability to mangle enemies with little more than his bare hands) everyone else dropped what they were holding, picked themselves up from their current positions, and ran out the door single file.

Panting until he had calmed himself, Heavy stood surveying the scene for several minutes. First things would need to be cleaned up. Then, new products would have to be purchased to replace all the so carelessly destroyed ones. Heavy sighed in frustration. The last and most crucial step would be teaching his team a lesson in the proper treatment and construction of sandviches.

One they would not soon forget.


	2. Training Begins

**Chapter 2**** - Training Begins**

In the safety of he and Pyro's shared room, Scout played with his baseball nervously, rolling it in his palm while staring out the window. The light outside was fading fast, but one couldn't tell exactly how quickly from all the years of built up soot covering the glass. Out of boredom, Scout got up and decided to wipe a palm over it.

"Gee, I never saw Heavy go so ballistic over some sandwiches b'fore," he commented, staring out at the field and the barbed-wire fences that separated their home base from the enemies'. "He looked like he was 'bout to murder us. All over a freakin' buncha poorly made sandwiches."

"Hrrrph ffrph," said Pyro sadly, repeatedly flicking a lighter off and on.

"Yeah, maybe he was pissed about us destroyin' half the kitchen too. But most of that was all Soldier an' Demo's fault," Scout said.

Pyro shrugged. "Hhphhh."

"Well I wouldn'a hit _him_ in the face with the package of cheese if he hadn'a hit _me_ in the face with a package of cold cuts first!" Scout ranted.

Pyro backed off, waving his hands defensively. Enough fighting for today. The firebug went back to flicking the lighter, resting his masked chin in his hand.

The clock on the wall hit 7:00pm, signaling what should have been a communal Sunday dinner time for the group. If the kitchen hadn't been wrecked and most of the current food stock destroyed, that was. Nobody had seen Heavy since he'd sent them all running after the sandwich fiasco. The door to the kitchen had been locked tightly since then. Not even Spy was curious enough to pick the lock, which he most certainly could if he so desired.

Everyone else had gone off to their quarters or favorite haunts of the base in an attempt to stay out of the disgruntled Heavy's way. Whether or not they had managed to procure themselves a replacement lunch was unknown.

Scout had a bag of peanuts from a past baseball game that had a few left in it. He'd eaten a handful to tide him over, nibbling at them like a mouse over the past few hours. Pyro only ate when nobody else was around, but Scout had caught the mysterious figure drinking beverages on a couple occasions. Pyro did it through the air filter of his gas mask with a straw. Once Scout thought he'd even witnessed the weirdo trying to shove some ice cream through there.

"Ice cream," Scout mumbled at the window, suddenly wishing he had a milkshake.

"Hmmph?" Pyro asked.

"Aw, nothin'," Scout replied, tossing his ball into the air. Before he could catch it, the loudspeakers came on.

"Attention! Team will report to mess hall in ten minutes," Heavy's surprisingly calm voice stated through it. After a pause, he continued. "Repeat: ten minutes. Or I will find you. And _crush _you."

Whimpering in a panic, Pyro dropped his lighter and mad a mad run out the door.

Startled, Scout blinked in confusion for a few seconds before he gulped and ran out the door himself.

"Jeez! Hey Py, wait for me!"

/

The team stood gathered in the mess hall, Heavy strangely absent from the group at the moment. Expressions ranged from confusion and paranoia to neutrality, as well as boredom and increasing frustration.

"What's the meaning of this? I was in the middle of a game of 'D-Day' with Fritz here!" Soldier said while motioning to Medic, who stood beside him with arms crossed.

"You vere also lozing," Medic commented.

"I was not! I was about to spring my ambush on your Axis maggots before we got interrupted," Soldier insisted.

Medic rolled his eyes.

"Hmmmph fffmph?" Pyro asked, quivering like a scared chihuahua.

"The heck should I know?" Scout responded, lightly throwing his baseball into the air. "Maybe he wants us all to apologize for wreckin' the kitchen at lunch."

"Good luck wiz zhat one. I am not apologizing for anyzhing I did not do," scoffed Spy, puffing away on his seventh cigarette since morning. "If you idiots 'ad let me make zhe sandwiches myself, none of zhis would 'ave 'appened."

"If you hadn't been li'l miss prissy throw a fit at everything, maybe we could have," Sniper muttered.

Spy glared at him and prepared to hurl a comment back but Engineer stepped in and prevented the two from clashing. "Now, now, fellas! Enough is enough fer today. We don't wanna start trouble all up again over nothin', especially not after Heavy cleaned up our mess." He motioned around the area.

The kitchen had been cleaned up rather impressively, now spotless and shining, no traces of the team's former lunch related brawl left.

"'specially not after Heavy cleaned th' place, not after th' way he looked like he was gonna blow his top off," Demoman added, swaying woozily. The Scot looked bored and drunk enough to fall asleep standing.

"One thing's for sure, I'm getting tired of waiting around for him to show up and tell us why he's got us all standing around doing nothing!" Soldier complained.

"Solly's right," Scout yawned, jumping into a mess table chair and putting his feet up on the table. "Think I'm gonna sit."

The door to the kitchen swung open at that very moment, causing everyone to jump. Pyro to let out a small squeak of fright. Scout lost his balance and toppled backward to the floor.

"Ow, my ass!" Scout whined. Rubbing his injured glutes, he scrambled to his feet in time to witness Heavy trudging toward the group with a menacing smile and several pieces of colored material clutched in his giant left hand.

"Good. I do not have to hunt down and crush any tiny baby men for not coming to training session," said Heavy, stopping in front of his row of confused fellow men.

"Wait, what? Training session?" Scout went from confused to outright annoyed as he dusted himself off and stared at Heavy.

"For what?" Demoman asked, more bewildered than usual.

Heavy let the materials in his hand drop onto the floor. They were revealed to be eight cooking aprons of varying colors and novelty prints. The Russian put on a wide, disturbing grin.

"Training to make _sandviches_."


End file.
